My Week As A Full-Time Writer

Monday

EXCITEMENT! EXCESSIVE USE OF CAPITAL LETTERS!

My first day all to myself with my shiny new resolution to write. I was hoping to get something along the lines of ten thousand words a day.

(For the non-writers in the audience, many excellent slow-and-steady writers try to get 500 words a day)

Typically, I get between 1,000 and 2,000 words per hour (slanted heavily towards the low end of that scale on average).

So how did I do?

My daily total was just shy of 6,000 words.

In addition to that, I ran on the treadmill twice AND finished a chapter in my giant design book (study rather than fantasy).

In short, it was quite a lovely day.

Tuesday

Ah, Tuesday.

Can we go back to Monday? I liked Monday. Monday was shiny and sparkly and full of new beginnings.

It’s not Tuesday’s fault. I had a doctor’s appointment in the morning, so I tried to run a few errands between dropping Steven off at work and meeting a new sawbones.

First thing? Mailing off some art.

Only, the post office doesn’t open till 9, which I didn’t know till I got there. (God forbid their hours make sense or be accessible to working people. I know postal workers and they are lovely, lovely people, but I do not approve of the business practices but that’s a whole different can of worms)

So I go to Walgreens where I find out that I cannot purchase my allergy medications in bulk ahead of time without having the prescription expressly written that way. I also buy a bag of epsom salts which just so happens to have a whole in it and it goes all explodey when the poor checker tries to scan it.

Also, Walgreens does not sell mailing tubes. *grump*

Back to the post office. I arrive to stand in line ten minutes early, along with several other disgruntled postal customers. In the background, I hear muffled shouts and a lot (A LOT) of repeated heavy bangs, thuds, and metallic whirs.

They open the front door at precisely 9:05, which I totally forgive them for despite the line of waiting customers. Given the racket I heard behind the POBoxes, I can only assume they were restraining a murderous robotic t-rex that had gotten loose.

I bought an extra mailing tube for use next time I need to mail something and I’m not conveniently off work that day.

Then it was time for my appointment, which was just about the most disappointing and frustrating visit I’ve ever had. Yet ANOTHER in my disturbing and expensive chain of automatic referrals to another doctor.

I was not in a good mood.

I did not want to make lunch. I did not want to work out. I did not want to talk to humanity. I most certainly did not want to write.

I made lunch. I worked out. I talked to Steven and Perry and Lauren.

And I sat down and wrote. It wasn’t amazing, it wasn’t fabulous, most of the words felt like I was peeling them out from beneath my fingernails, but I wrote.

1,800 words is my count for Tuesday and I’m more proud of those than I am of the 6k from Monday. Writing when you’re up and excited is easy.

Writing when you’d rather build a cocoon of blankets and pillows in the hopes you’d wake up a refreshed and happy butterfly? That is taking writing seriously.

Wednesday

Wednesday started strong and fizzled by the end. I got a good start in, then I went on an adventure at lunchtime and signed up for a hair appointment and before I knew it, Wednesday was over.

Thursday

Thursday was another kind of test entirely.

Immediately, I exited the house and went to the coffee shop, where I got an absolutely ridiculous amount of writing done.

Then I swapped to writing in the little dining area at the bottom floor of the building where Steven works, and got a pathetic amount of writing done. It might have been because I was hungry, but it might also have just not been a good environment.

Lunch with the hubby, after which I felt unaccountably BLAH and went home, where I pretty much cleaned for the rest of the afternoon. I did attempt another writing session, but it didn’t last very long and I felt quite odd about it, so I stopped before I monkeyed with plot points that needed giraffing instead. (that made a lot of sense in my head, so we’ll just go with it).

Friday

I took Friday off.

No arguments! I had exactly ONE WEEK off between jobs and I wanted one day to relax.

And I didn’t even relax all that long, because I had a fantastic, amazing, incredible evening planned and it required not only cleaning, but also cooking and costumes.

Oh yes. Costumes.

The Murder Mystery Party was ridiculous fun, even if we were so sloshed by the end we didn’t have a clue who the killer was. Thank heavens nobody’s depending on us to solve crimes.

Or keep an accent for more than two words at a time.

So What Did I Learn?

Maintaining a creative pace is a lot more exhausting than it would seem. Not physically so, but mentally.

Were I a stay-at-home writer, I’d probably only get about a half-day’s work in each day, even if I didn’t have a silly number of appointments and social engagements scheduled.

That being said, it wasn’t a failure. I don’t come home and write every day, not even close. I got a CRAZY wordcount in, and I could easily write multiple books a year if I stayed home to do it. Not like dozens or anything, but probably a pretty easy two (and that includes time to revise and edit).

I learned:

I am MUCH more productive early in the morning
I benefit from getting out of the house, and the local coffee shop seems to be the perfect location for me to hang out for a while
I am very capable of ignoring games, movies, tv shows, and even the internet itself if I set my mind to it, but a dirty dish whispers horrible, terrible things into the cobwebbed corners of my soul and cannot be ignored.
I depend on Steven rather a lot to choreograph fights and help make last-minute plot decisions. This pace made it more difficult to get his feedback, and I think that would become a significant problem as I forged more deeply into our loosely plotted center.
Perry is awesome. (Actually, I knew that already, but it’s worth note)

Could I be a stay-at-home writer? Yes, I think so. I could write half-time and spend the rest of my time doing social media stuff (which I’ve heard becomes somewhat important once one becomes famous).

Do I want to right now?

No, I don’t think so. Maybe if the guilt of paychecks was removed and I was making money on writing, I could see it as a serious professional move, but I was pretty itchy to get back to work by Friday.

I am happily enjoying my first days at my new and challenging job.

Besides, I’m kinda worried that the whole obsessive cleaning thing could turn unhealthy pretty quickly. I was scrubbing WALLS, people. Scrubbing. Walls.

That’s … well, it’s not all the way off the deep end, but I can certainly see the diving board from here.

Related posts:

This Week’s Experiment
Adventures in Acupuncture
Writer’s Panic